Day 120 - Aunt-Mother Story

Aunt-Mother Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Of course Miranda was surprised to find that she was not the genetic offspring of her mother Lucille, despite there being great evidence that Lucille had indeed given birth to her; rather, Miranda was the genetic offspring of an aunt she never knew she had, one that had been destroyed and reabsorbed by Lucille while still in utero. Miranda didn’t know which disturbed her more: that she herself was some sort of genetic anomaly, or that her mother was in possession of the ovaries from a nonexistent twin sister, or the fact that this made her mother into some sort of twisted DNA murderer, and Lucille’s sister and Miranda’s aunt was just floating somewhere in the ether never to be born.

In light of recent events, Miranda didn’t feel particularly close to her mother-aunt or her aunt-mother. On some rational level, she knew it didn’t matter who was who and who had disappeared before they even really existed. Her mother was her mother. Lucille had given birth to her. Lucille had raised her. Lucille was her mother. But she was also Miranda’s aunt. On some existential level, Miranda found this turn of events to be rather vexing.

She supposed it explained why she had always found both herself and her mother (now her mother-aunt) to have both been such introverted individuals. They were both overly friendly and always trying to make friends with everyone they met. But they also didn’t keep friends. They were a bit hit-and-run when it came to relationships. It was like they were both always searching for something. Now it turned out, what they were searching for, was a long lost relative that still sort of existed inside both of them.

Miranda began to worry constantly about this missing element of her and her mother (mother-aunt). She was feeling a strange paranoia, afraid that she too might have had a vanishing twin of some sort. She tried to talk to Lucille about this far too often for it to possibly be healthly. Miranda was worried that her mother was a murderer and that she was a murderer and that if she ever had children herself, they too would turn out to be murderers. It didn’t matter that fetal resorption was not known to be a genetic trait that mothers passed down to daughters. Miranda researched enough to know that there really hadn’t been all that much research done and that most cases like this went undiscovered.

“I wonder what she would have been like. I wonder what she might have taught us.”

“I know this is hard, honey, but you can’t focus on this so much.”

“Can’t focus on it? Are you kidding? We’re a family of murderers and you don’t want me to focus on that?”

“You didn’t murder anybody, I didn’t murder anybody, and I wish you would stop talking like that.”

“You might have murdered somebody.”

“Miranda!”

“What? I’m not mad at you. But I could have had another mom. You have to acknowledge that I could have had another mom. I came from her ovaries that you stole. You would have been my aunt.”

“I’m your mom. Stop saying things like I stole them or you or whatever. You’re my daughter.”

“You’re aunt-mom. Or maybe mom-aunt. I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet what the term should be.”

“Mom.”

“But—“

“Mom. The term is mom. Or mother. Or mommy even. But I am not your aunt.”

“If this is a sore subject—“

“Damn it, Miranda. Enough. E-NOUGH. This is rude and hurtful and all you’re doing is making things worse with all this. We are no longer discussing this.”

Miranda began talking to anyone and everyone about this. It was a way of coping, not that she recognized that yet. She couldn’t get her head around the idea and it was as if she lost her total sense of identity. Some would say that most teenagers lost their sense of identity and spent those years trying to figure out just who they really were going to be. Certainly learning that your mother isn’t your mother, or is only half your mother, or is somehow your aunt as well as your mother, isn’t going to help when it comes to firming up any sense of self-identity. It was a strange and confusing time. Miranda needed help and the people around her were not equipped to give it.

“What if I had a twin brother or sister?”

“You didn’t.”

“How do you know I didn’t? What if you had a twin you don’t about? I could have had a twin brother and you could have had a twin sister.”

“I already have a sister, and you have a brother – we have each other.”

“Yeah yeah.  A cousin-brother.”

“Don’t start that with me.”

“All I’m saying is what if? Haven’t you ever felt like you were missing something?”

“Why are you so obsessed with this?”

“I don’t know. I am. It feels right to be. You know? I always felt so alone. Maybe this is why.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“You know I didn’t mean it that way. I love you Paul. You’re a great brother… And a great cousin.”

She smiled to lessen the impact of her words. At this point she really wasn’t trying to piss off every family member she had, but she couldn’t help herself from making the joke.

“It’s just… I don’t know. You know?”

“Obviously I don’t.”

“I just felt alone so much when I was a kid.”

“You are a kid.”

“I’m seventeen.”

“Still.”

“Whatever. I felt so alone as a little kid. Okay? And I feel so alone now. I love you and mom, but I feel so alone sometimes.”

“I know what you mean. That’s normal. That’s life. That doesn’t go away. That’s not because you didn’t have the twin you were supposed to have.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Believe it or not – I can’t convince you otherwise. But trust me, I feel alone in this world too. This world is a lonely place. Just wait a couple of years when you’re on your own and working and going home at night to an empty apartment. You’ll really feel alone then.”

“All the more reason for me to have had a twin.”

“I don’t think twins are what you think they are. Twins aren’t magic.”

“I know they aren’t magic. Still, it couldn’t have hurt.”

“It’s not like mom did this to you, you know? This wasn’t some plot. She’s wasn’t making plans in the womb to kill her sibling.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

“She didn’t do this to you.”

“I know. I know.”

“If anything she did it to herself.”

“I know, I know. I. Know. Just stop talking now. I want to hold on to this a little bit longer.”

“Okay. But then you’ll have to let it go and you’ll have to apologize to her.”

“I know.”

Miranda went to a Chimera Meeting. It was an umbrella group, open to those that fell into a wide range of twin related genetic maladies. It encompassed many things, even if the name only came from one distinct subset of conditions. The Greeks believed in a fire-breathing creature made up of equal parts lion, goat and snake. It was as if a monster jigsaw puzzle was shaken up one too many times.  Genetically speaking a chimera was a pretty rare condition involving at least two genetically distinct cell DNA strands. Two fetuses for the price of one, thought Miranda. The meeting wasn’t just for those with chimerism. It was really for a wide range of disorders that all basically boiled down to one thing – one twin made it, and the other didn’t. The group had been established as a way to seek empowerment and search for solace with others that suffered similarly and perhaps grow past the mental turmoil that could occur when someone believed that they were only one half and could never find their other. Miranda knew she didn’t really belong at the meeting, and that her mother was truly the one who should have been there, but seeing as how her mother didn’t exhibit too much distress over the situation, but Miranda did, it was Miranda that went.

Miranda met a nice boy named Steven who had his nonexistent sister’s ovary inside him. He was thinking of having it removed, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. Miranda told him she thought it was kind of awesome that he had it and that maybe it would make him better able to understand what women went through in life. She made it sound like that was a desirable trait, and the way she said it made Steve believe it was true. Miranda thought Steve was cute and threw him quick glances and private smiles the rest of the night. She had no idea how she really felt about Steve’s problem, but she liked it when he smiled back at her.

Miranda declined the invitation to speak. She didn’t think anyone there would understand her situation or want to hear her complain about her mother-aunt and aunt-mother. These people all had tragedy as part of their defining personality trait. They had someone die on them or not quite be born, or had someone disappear in the womb, or had absorbed someone or some other variation of the genetic trick. All Miranda had were some complaints about not knowing her mother who wasn’t really her mother. It sounded petty in comparison. Perhaps she should have gone to a meeting with adopted and abandoned children. They would at least understand her longing to know someone that was unknowable. But they might resent her for having been raised by her birth-mother and not understand what she was talking about when she explained that her mother wasn’t really her mother.

Miranda had a great amount of fear that people wouldn’t understand her problem and just think she was spoiled and complaining about nothing or making the whole thing up. She figured that she was all alone in this and that no one would understand.

“How was the meeting?”

Miranda was on her way down the hall to her room when her mother called from the living room.

“Most of them were just assholes. Their therapist or hypnotist or psychic or whoever convinced them they needed healing and the only way to do that was to believe in some sort of nonsense.”

“But not you?”

“No. Not me.”

“You’re tough. You’re fine.”

“Yeah.”

Miranda stood there for a minute, unsure what to say to her mother. She wasn’t sure what to share. She didn’t know what to say to make this strange hurt go away. She also didn’t want to alienate her mother anymore or make her feel any worse than she might already be feeling. Miranda had taken this whole thing rather hard and never once stopped to truly wonder what it was doing to her mother. Lucille was now her aunt-mother, but Miranda had also been instantly transformed and was now a niece-daughter. She hadn’t thought about how strange or odd that might be to Lucille. She hadn’t wondered how hard it would be on her to lose her daughter and her sister in the same moment.

“I’ll be fine. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“I’m still your daughter.”

“Of course you are.”

“No, I mean, I’m your niece now too, but I’ll always be your daughter.”

“That was never in doubt.”

“Oh. Good. Because I am.”

“Yes dear. You were my daughter, you still are, and you still will be. Come here.”

Miranda crossed to her mother and sat next to her on the couch. Lucille wrapped her arm around Miranda.

“You can call me your niece if you want to.”

“I’m not going to call you my niece.”

“You can if you want. Just to try it out.”

“Maybe when you misbehave or embarrass me in public. I can say to the other parents ‘don’t blame me… she’s my sister’s kid.’”

“Yeah.”

Miranda started to laugh. Soon Lucille joined in, except her laughter was mixed with tears.